The agent of the Allied Arts Building requested H. R. to vacate. He requested it three times an hour, from nine to six.
"The other tenants object to your sandwiches," the agent explained to H. R.
"Let 'em move out. We'll take the whole building—at a fair concession.
"Move out yourself!" shrieked the agent.
"See our lawyer," said H. R., and turned his back on the agent.
The agent called on Mr. Onthemaker.
"Fifty thousand dollars!" said Max.
The agent fled, holding his watch in place.
In the mean time the treasury of the society was growing apace. H. R. transferred his account. He now deposited the funds with the National Bank of the Avenue.
The president, Mr. Wyman, told Mr. Goodchild about it. Mr. Goodchild, who had turned red as H. R.'s name was mentioned by a highly esteemed colleague, looked thoughtful—he might have had the account.